Intrinsic

I had a little bit of an epiphany the other day, caused by mental stirrings due to several exchanges I have seen going on.

Submission has always been a part of me. That's not to say that I was mild-mannered or retiring or particularly servile as a child, but certain situations would stir this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach and I liked it. A scene in a widely-read, much-loved children's novel made me tingle so much that I dog-eared that part and read it over and over, in bed at night.

Another book had a passing reference to "What if they all wanted to bite your butt?" and that sent tingles across my entire back as well.

I read a lot - a whole lot - of romance novels. A post on npr's pop culture blog mentioned learning a lot from romance novels. Not a case of learning about romance in general, but a case of  learning about your romance, "that made me extra excited, maybe I should try that sometime." I certainly know exactly what that is like; romance novels are where I learned about myself.

The historical romances I was drawn toward involved a lot of pirates, rape, and dastardly seemingly normal men  forcing their previously courted, clearly misled new wives to do horrible things against their wishes. That was their right within the law of the land. Until the dastardly man would of course meet an untimely end and then the True Hero could swoop in. Or something of that nature. While I loved the romance of the True Hero stuff -  the girl-clasped-to-chest while their hearts beat together in a timeless rhythm of love and his lips claiming hers in a searing kiss that consumed both their souls* - the sex parts just didn't push my buttons the way the dastardly men's uncouth actions, kicking, slapping, beating, hair-pulling, and insults did. It was okay, it was sometimes hot, but very rarely did it push those same tingle-buttons.

*I love the Princess Bride, what can I say.

I couldn't make these things mesh, my love of romance and my arousal by the darker side. I spent years and years thinking I was a horrible person for being turned on by these things. I didn't tell anyone anything, but I had the books with the best bits under my bed for late-night masturbation sessions. Finally the Internet rescued me from my turmoil. I found friends who, despite not being lifestyle related, shared some of the same urgings I did. I found my own community of geeks who loved a good double entendre as much as I loved making them. I found literotica, and finally, my best friend and sweet lover and deliciously wicked tormentor, a man from my geek community who was so open-minded and accepting that I could actually share my needs with him. I was not a Bad Person.

The epiphany was this: People are who they are.

Yeah, right, brilliant deduction, Sherlock.

You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy. Isn't that how the saying goes?

People can discover these things later in life than I did, yes, absolutely they can. But you can't remove the inclination, or make it exist. It's either there, or it's not.

"But but, first I didn't like X, and now I love X because I've been trained to.."

But... being made to love something you didn't like is a thing itself. It's an inclination. You wouldn't open yourself up for it in the first place if it wasn't.

People are who they are.

I have gay friends. I know they are gay. They don't know I am kinky. I couldn't fathom telling anyone in my real life, even those already outside the "norm." The thing about being gay, is that it's pretty much impossible to both hide it and be happy. It's also difficult for many to not hide it and be happy, due to whatever legal strictures may exist. I'm definitely for gay marriage. People should not be prevented from marrying the people they love.

I can hide my kink, not offend anyone, and be on my merry way because I am a heterosexual, happily married, monogamous woman. That only means there are certain conversations I can't touch, lest I be gazed upon with horror. I won't lie; I just don't say anything at all rather than participate in a conversation about some aspect of sex or relationships in which my opinion will garner me nothing but stares and whispered tut-tuts. I mean, if you don't like something, heaven forbid you actually tell him. If you want him to do something more often, God knows lighting will strike you down and ruin your perfect manicure if you ask him. Sometimes I swear vanilla people come from a different planet where people in relationships aren't allowed to talk to each other. How did they get in the relationship in the first place? Clearly some communication must have gone on? Did they negotiate their way into a many-year marriage via headgames and doubletalk? Maybe there was a genie involved.

So I just keep my mouth shut.



I am who I am. I can't change it. None of us can. We can suppress, or pretend, or ignore, and sometimes that's what we need to do when that thing that we are is dangerous to ourselves or to others. Some particular people are Bad People, and this post is not meant to absolve or excuse that sort of behavior. Some people need a lot of therapy to get past a bad place, or they hurt others in unacceptable ways (which is any way at all that the others did not knowingly consent to), and that is not cool or groovy or anything I condone or accept.

It's to my advantage that who I happen to be can at least have the appearance of fitting into a mold of acceptability. The threads of submission are woven into my soul, along with the romantic threads, the voracious reader threads, the geek threads, and so on. I figure all souls have their own threads, and once made aware of their existence, none of  them can be separated from the rest of the person without that person feeling incomplete. I know I feel most complete and happy within myself when I am owned, used, cherished. We can all only hope for love and acceptance. I have it, and I give it back, and I am full of gratitude for it.